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p.AI.nter didn’t trust many people. Sure, he hadn’t been “alive” for long, only a dozen or so years, but his point remained: very few people received his trust. His list consisted of only two people: his creator, who was killed by Urbanshade employees, and Sebastian Solace.
Sebastian was the best. After all, he had saved the AI from his miserable existence of endless cryptocurrency mining. Even if that were everything he’d done, p.AI.nter would still have full faith in him. But Sebastian did more: he talked to p.AI.nter, praised his artwork, and gave p.AI.nter a purpose by letting him help out. All he had to do was guide him through the Blacksite and “stall” the Expendables.
The mutant’s instructions had been clear on that last one: shoot down anything that moves, and if it doesn’t stay down, keep firing until it does. He didn’t give a single exception, except for the obvious one of “don’t shoot me.”
Until one day, that is.
Sebastian swept into p.AI.nter’s room with a forced smile and a new blood stain on his sleeve. p.AI.nter doodled a wide eyed expression of concern as he waited for the man to speak.
“Hey Paints,” he greeted. “How you doing kid?”
“I should be the one asking you that!” p.AI.nter added eyebrows to his face for the sole purpose of raising one. “What happened?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He pointed at the computer, eyes squinting slightly. “Listen, I’m making a small adjustment to the rules.”
“Huh?” Sebastian made three finger guns, easily clearing up the AI’s confusion. “Oh. Okay?”
“Don’t shoot the humanoid mutant with a purple tail,” he instructed firmly. p.AI.nter blinked a couple times to convey his confusion.
“The one that keeps visiting your shop? The one you claimed to be‘totally robbing blind?’” he clarified. Sebastian nodded. “Yeah, got it. If I’m allowed to ask, why the sudden shift in policy?”
“No you cannot,” the mutant replied instantly, before continuing. “We’ve struck up a deal. Like, a proper alliance. He’s firmly on our team now.”
“How did that happen?” Sebastian sighed and folded his two main arms, resting the third on his hip.
“Look, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he isn’t a threat, and I don’t want you shooting him.” He held up his third hand in an “ok” gesture. “Capeesh?”
“Oooookay?” p.AI.nter had finally agreed. There was no use fighting the reform, it’s not like p.AI.nter particularly wanted to shoot anybody, anyway.
Although, when the shopkeeper left his room, p.AI.nter couldn’t help the odd unpleasant feeling creeping up on him.
Sebastian had mentioned this ally a couple times after that, through which p.AI.nter had collected three key tidbits about him.
1: His name was Michael,
2: He was younger than Sebastian (the shopkeeper called him kid sometimes, similar to how he addressed p.AI.nter),
And 3: Sebastian did not view him as a threat. At all.
Of course, p.AI.nter couldn't judge if Sebastian was correct or not on the matter: he had yet to even interact with their so-called ally, not even once. So no, he wasn’t gonna assume. He trusted Sebastian.
But, he couldn’t help being skeptical of this “Michael.” So far, with just him and Sebastian, things were running pretty smoothly. For all p.AI.nter knew, this guy could throw a wrench in all their plans! (Well, actually all of Sebastian’s plans, but he was a part of them too! To a certain degree!)
Needless to say, p.AI.nter was pretty antsy about the whole thing. It had been approximately 3 weeks, 6 days, 8 hours, 4 minutes and 21.7 secon— no, 21.8– wait no, 9– you know what, whatever! The point was, significant time had passed since he joined their side (or, at least since he was told not to kill the guy).
He figured that it was about time he met and developed his own opinions on this “Michael.”
o o o
p.AI.nter’s big chance came when he spotted a lone Expendable, followed by Michael. They were approaching one of the rooms with the hijacked security system inside. Though he didn’t plan on shooting Michael, he could easily take out the Expendable and then talk to him.
Besides, if he proved untrustworthy, then p.AI.nter could just make the hard call and shoot him too.
He didn’t want to, but if he had to…
Once the Expendable entered his room, all it took was one well aimed shot to take ‘em out. They had obviously been on their last leg already, health-wise.
(The blood that followed wasn't pretty. p.AI.nter much preferred the vibrant red in his drawing program over the deep shade now staining their floor.)
After their body hit the ground, p.AI.nter pulled the turrets back into the ceiling. They could still be easily accessed, but weren’t as intimidating that way. He needed Michael to feel safe enough to show himself, after all.
And, after only a second, he did just that. Michael jumped down from the pipes with wide eyes. As he surveyed the scene, p.AI.nter took the opportunity to speak up. “Hey!”
The experiment jumped at the sudden voice and looked around in alarm. After a moment he froze and turned to the screen. “Uh… hey?”
“So you’re this ‘Michael’ I’ve been hearing about.” The addressed opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off. “If that’s even your real name!”
“…if you’re talking about my legal name at birth, then yeah-“
“Silence!” the AI abruptly screeched. Michael stopped talking. “Sebastian mentioned you. Who are you? What do you want with Sebastian? Why does he trust you? Huh? HUH!?”
“I’m… Michael,” he began, earning a doodled scowl from p.AI.nter. “I’m not sure how else you want me to introduce myself. It’s… I’m technically Z-98?”
“I know your designation,” p.AI.nter replied, hoping that it sounded as menacing as he’d intended.
“Okay… what was the second question again?” he asked. p.AI.nter wanted to face palm, but drawing hands required focus and he was trying to do an interrogation here.
“What do you want with Sebastian, hmmmm?” There was a brief pause. Michael had the audacity to look confused.
“What… do I want with Sebastian?” he repeated. p.AI.nter bobbed his digital face up and down. “I’m not… I don’t know what you mean. I think we’re working together? So that? Maybe?”
“What are your motives!?” p.AI.nter pushed. He wished he had hands and that there was a table between them so he could smack both palms onto it angrily.
“I don’t know! I just don’t want to… I don’t know?” He stopped talking and rubbed his upper arms in comfort. He mumbled something, but it was too quiet for p.AI.nter to hear.
“Speak up please this mic doesn’t pick up sound that well.” Michael sighed softly.
“I just don’t want to be alone? I don’t care if I get out or not, I just don’t want to do it alone.” He spoke the words so quickly, like if he didn’t get them out immediately they would evaporate: just like the color did from his face once he’d spoken. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”
“What? The thing you don’t want him to know is that you’re clingy?” p.AI.nter exclaimed. “Come ON, you’ve gotta have something juicier than that! Literally anything!”
“Wh- huh?” Michael stuttered. The AI groaned dramatically.
“Don’t even bother with the last question, he probably trusts you because you clearly can’t pretend to save your life.” The man’s non-purple cheek went a little pink and he glanced away. “What does he see in you? I don’t get it. At least I can shoot people.”
There was a long pause, in which Michael was obviously contemplating something. He seemed hesitant to say it though. This greatly annoyed the AI: if you’re going to make the fact that you’re thinking easily readable from your expression, the least you could do was just say it aloud. “What is it? Spit it out.”
“Are you… worried that he’s replacing you?” The question made p.AI.nter gasp in offense.
“WHAT! No! Why would he replace me with you? That’s stupid— I’m not intimidated by you!” he protested. Michael didn’t look convinced at all. “You know what, go away! Good bye!”
p.AI.nter didn’t wait for a response before disconnecting from that device and returned to his main console.
What a dumb interaction. Jealous? Him? What reason would he have to be jealous? None.
He wasn’t going to dignify that accusation with even a single line of contemplative code.
o o o
Z-98’s thoughts on Painter were mixed.
For one, the AI acted quite… odd. He wasn’t threatening, necessarily, but Z-98 still tried to avoid angering him (anyone with control of the entire Blacksite’s security system was worth taking some caution around).
For two, he was something of an enigma. He was aware that Sebastian was on good enough terms with him and he obviously knew him, but not much else. And Painter’s refusal to really give him any information wasn't helping.
Honestly, he had expected not to see him for a while. Z-98 had a sneaking suspicion that the AI didn't exactly like him (which was understandable, but still a fact that merited mentioning).
So, when the round of Expendables he’d been following were shot down and guns disappeared into the ceiling for the second time that week(?), Z-98 was quick to flee from the room. Might as well respect his space.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, Michael?” He froze and turned halfway around. Hesitantly, he pointed at himself. “Yes you, who else is there named Michael down here?!”
Right.
Michael fully faced the door screen, through which Painter was glaring at him. “Do you need something?”
“No, I don’t need anything from you,” he replied.
“Then why did you-?”
“How did you get close to Sebastian so fast?” Michael blinked a couple times. He could feel the blood pouring from the fresh bodies on the floor staining the base of his legs. It was repulsive, but he was just asked a question. He had to answer.
“I really haven’t gotten close to him fast. It’s been a while.” Plus, they weren’t really that close.
Painter’s eyes shifted to the side, glaring harder. Obviously he could still see Michael, because the door camera was pointed forward. It was probably for dramatic effect. Actually, thinking about it now, pretty much every shift in his expression was entirely voluntary and purposeful. All of it was for dramatic effect.
It kinda reminded him of himself as a kid, far before… well, everything.
“It was a shorter period than I’ve known him for,” Painter grumbled. He displayed so much personality, enough to kinda startled Z-98. He could envision him crossing his arms in annoyance.
No, stop daydreaming, you’re being rude. “Look, all I’ve really done is visit his shop a lot and bring him research. It’s honestly the bare minimum alliance upkeep.”
“It is?” Michael shrugged, completely missing the slight fear in the AI’s voice.
“I mean, I think it is,” he admitted. Honestly, he wanted to do so much more to assist in whatever Sebastian’s plan was. If he was leaving this place, he had to earn it, didn't he?
“Oh.” Michael looked back up at the screen.
“Why do you-?” The device clicked off suddenly, flickering back to the door number. Michael stopped mid-sentence.
What on earth was that about?
o o o
It wasn’t often that Z-98 got anywhere without Expendables to follow. They were the simplest way to get around, especially when the ventilation shafts were too few and far between (which was probably a health code violation), which made it impossible to climb through them, even though most were his size.
But sometimes Z-98 got lucky. Sometimes he’d find a vent that brought him through several rooms. That day was one such instance.
When he popped out of the vent, it wasn't hard for him to figure out what sector of the facility he was in. It was the breaker area: at least, that’s what he had dubbed it.
After scanning the hallway for any threats (there were none), he closed his eyes and focused his hearing. The vibrations throughout the area were faint: the soft humming of the generators that kept the building running. It was reassuring, listening to the gentle ‘sounds’ around him. They were consistent, predictable, not a beep out of place-
Wait.
He opened his eyes, gills twitching as he un-cupped the hands around his “ears.” If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a vibration that sounded an awful lot like mumbling.
And circuits didn’t mumble.
Slowly, following the faint sounds to the best of his ability, Z-98 located a room with a small, chain link fenced box in the far left corner. Inside was what looked like a retro computer: off-white with a classic cube-shape. His eyesight wasn’t perfect (never had been), but it looked like something was moving around on the screen.
With a soft hum he neared, trying to stay hidden behind nearby machines in case he was unknowingly approaching a threat. He wasn’t sure how a computer could possibly hurt him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Eventually, he was close enough to catch what was actually being said.
“Whatever, it’s not a big deal. So what if I’m not good enough? That’s just how it’s always been.” Michael’s eyes widened.
Not only were the contents of concerning, but he recognized that voice.
Finally, he stepped out from behind a bulk of machinery, his fingertips never leaving the surface. He wasn’t willing to fully pull away from it just yet.
“Painter?” A garbled beep of shock rang out, making Michael flinch at the volume. From his angle, the screen was kinda hard to see, so he couldn’t see the AI’s current expression, but he sounded shocked.
“Since when were you in here?! Trespasser! Get out!” he snapped. Michael could practically envision him pointing angrily at the door (just as he had done many times before).
Z-98’s temptation to comply with his request and avoid his anger was strong. But there were no guns in this room, and something inside Michael ached at the thought of leaving Painter alone.
He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but it was very clear that something was. And for once in his life, Michael wanted to be the reason someone felt better.
So, because of this, he slowly stepped away from the tech, his hand finally leaving the smooth, cold surface. It only took a couple seconds before he was standing face-to-screen with Painter.
“Are you deaf?!” the AI huffed, turning his digital face away from Michael. “Or just stupid? Or maybe you’re both.”
“No! I’m not, I just…” Okay, maybe he should have left. He didn’t know how to comfort people. Or talk to people in general.
“…just not listening? Duh.” Silence lingered between them. Michael’s eyes drifted from the computer to its side. It was then that he noticed how hooked up this thing was. A couple wires streamed across the table to a large processor branded with the Urbanshade logo, and more cords trailed across the floor, connecting to even more machinery.
And that wasn’t even mentioning how barricaded this old computer was. The chain link fence, closed off ceiling, hard-locked door? Somebody went through a lot of trouble to fortify this thing.
Almost like this specific piece of tech was important.
“Hello, earth to weirdo? What’re you gawking at?” Z-98 returned to reality, forcing himself to focus on the AI in front of him.
“Is this your main body?” Michael blurted out. It was the only conclusion that really made sense to him. Painter’s sketchy expression fell into one of annoyance.
“Are you stupid?” he asked again. The mutant hesitated.
“Wh- I… no? I just didn’t realize you had one, since you’re… y’know. Always hopping around.” He twirled his pointer finger around, for emphasis. Painter did not look impressed.
“Yeah, what of it? What’s it matter to you?” Once again, Michael was reminded of what had brought him to Painter in the first place: concern.
“Nothing, I guess. I mean, unless it’s important to you? Then it would…” He swallowed harshly. This was not working. “Look, Painter… is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. Why would something be wrong? It’s none of your business!” Michael flinched at the sudden rise in volume, but not much. He was quickly coming to expect Painter’s huge vocal shifts.
“You, uh… you were muttering, earlier”, Michael softly replied. “Something about… uhm… you not…”
He must have taken too long to finish, because eventually Painter snapped at him. “Just spit it out.”
“…you said that you ‘weren’t good enough?’”
“So what? I said what I said. What’s your point?” Painter responded instantly. He didn’t sound as angry— well, he was still quite clearly angry, but less so.
“Why did you say that?” Michael finally asked. The AI scoffed.
“Why do you even need to ask? If I don’t measure up to the basic requirements of an alliance, how could I be good enough? It’s an obvious… uuuuuuh… conclusion? Conclusion.” Stunned silence reigned over the room, thick and stifling.
“What are you talking about?” Painter’s doodled eyes rolled before a buzz filtered through the air. The noise was new, thus causing Z-98 to jump as he looked around for the source. Then he realized: it was just Painter. That was what made the noise.
“Look, all I’ve really done is visit his shop a lot and bring him research.” Wait, he recognized that voice. It was his own, bouncing right back at him through the speaker. “It’s honestly the bare minimum alliance upkeep.”
The feed fizzled out. Painter was glaring down at the floor. Michael was just shocked.
“No. Painter, I wasn’t talking about you!” he floundered. “You know that right?”
“Why does it matter if you were talking about yourself? If that’s what’s necessary for you to keep up an alliance with Sebastian, then why would I be an exception?” the AI shouted back.
“Because Sebastian really cares about you, Painter!” Michael snapped. Painter’s angry face faltered. “I know there’s a reason he never introduced us, and It’s probably ‘cause he’s protective of you! He wouldn’t require that of you. Besides, you can shoot down Expendables. You’re actually doing something meaningful. The most I can do is give him the random Urbanshade junk I find. That’s it.”
By the time he finished Michael’s breathing was heavy and tired. Okay. That wasn’t something he expected himself to admit aloud.
“You’re helping contribute to our escape though,” Painter grumbled. Z-98 turned back to him again. “All I can do is delay Expendables and be a map. I can’t do anything to help on my own.”
Michael took a deep breath and slowly approached the chain link wall. He leaned against it tiredly. “I still think that Sebastain would regret losing your contribution more than mine.”
“I’m not convinced,” Painter grumbled. But he left it at that.
It was like the shouting had taken everything out of the both of them. Now all they had left was exhaustion. “Hey, weirdo?”
Michael glanced back at him. “Mhm?”
“How can you be so sure Sebastian cares about me?” It took the experiment a second to wrap his brain around the question. And even then, he hesitated.
“Well, he was the one who set up all of—” he gestured to the fenced in enclosure “—this. Right?”
“Yeah?” Painter confirmed.
“Why would he go through all this trouble to keep you safe if he didn’t care?” Michael asked. The AI paused, seeming to blue screen (metaphorically) for a second.
“Well, I— technically I’m performing a security function, so he wanted to make sure I would continue to defend the system!”
“That… I guess so. But if he just wanted to put in safety measures, why wouldn’t he introduce the two of us?” Michael softly noted. After a moment of silence, Painter’s face lit up.
“He was worried we’d team up instead.” The experiment snorted in surprise.
“Pfft- what?” Painter’s face bobbed up and down.
“It’s true. He’s scared of the kind of chaos we could cause!” He paused. “Well, he’d be scared of me. You would maybe assist by having hands.”
“Sure,” Michael complied with a laugh. He took a second before backing off from the wall, facing the computer fully. “Painter? Can I tell you something?”
“Uuuuuh, yeah?” he responded.
“You aren’t ’lesser,’ or whatever it is you were saying. And I do genuinely believe that Sebastian cares about you.” Painter’s eyes widened before he squinted and looked away. “You’re, uh… how do I phrase this? You’re a work of art! Not every line is perfect or seems to serve a purpose on its own, but combined it’s beautiful.”
“Michael?” the AI piped up. Michael hummed at the quiet inquiry, listening keenly. “That was the cheesiest thing I’ve heard in years.”
“Ah. I’m, uh… not really good at feelings. Sorry!” Painter snickered at his expense.
Well, even if he sounded dumb, it had worked to cheer Painter up. He’d call that a win.
“Hey. I’m pretty sure Sebastian cares about you too.” Michael perked up, confused. “He mentions you a lot. Got overly worried about you a week or so ago.”
“I…” Michael honestly didn't know how to reply to that, so he just went with whatever response seemed the most natural. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Hey… what were you doing before I came out, anyway?” Michael asked. “I was pretty sure your screen had something moving, and it didn’t look black and white.”
“Oh, that? I was drawing.” Curiosity overcame Michael. “It’s not done yet though.”
“Can I… watch you draw for a bit?” The idea of sitting and watching someone else draw sounded so much better than anything else he could be doing in the Blacksite. He could certainly use the break. “Please.”
Painter gave an exaggerated groan. “Fiiiiiine, if you must.”
“I don’t have to if-“ Painter shushed him loudly.
“Shhhhh, shush shush shush! Just shut up and watch.” With that the screen suddenly flickered. It switched from his usual expression to what looked like a sunny field with colorful flower blobs. The vibrancy was so foreign to their environment that it honestly shocked Michael.
“It looks great, Painter.”
“Just you wait, it’ll look even greater-er soon.” Michael laughed.
“Whatever you say.”
o o o
p.AI.nter didn’t trust many people. Sure, he hadn’t been “alive” for long, only a dozen or so years, but his point remained: very few people received his trust. His list used to consist of only two people: his creator, who was killed by Urbanshade employees, and Sebastian Solace.
Emphasis on the words ‘used to.’
“Painter? Are you still hooked up to this screen, or did you get bored and hop to another?” p.AI.nter waited a minute, keeping his screen black with a glowing door number to boot. Luckily, even without his face drawn, he could see Michael through the camera. He was getting up from his seat against a nearby wall, notepad in hand and staring up at the screen in confusion. “Huh. Well, that was sudd-“
“OOGA BOOGA!” Michael let out a high pitched screech and fumbled for the notepad. p.AI.nter switched off the digital Angler jump-scare he’d pulled up and cackled, making sure to get a picture of the experiment’s reaction.
“Painter!” he squeaked, only earning more laughter. “What on earth was that for?”
“For fun?” Michael closed his eyes with a sigh and ran a hand down his face. “Geez, sometimes you act like an old guy.”
“Sometimes I feel like an old guy,” he mumbled. p.AI.nter snickered.
In that moment, he wasn’t worried about being an annoyance, or being unworthy of his few ‘allies.’ He wasn’t scared of being hated or discarded.
Because he trusted Michael, now. And they got along surprisingly well.